


Proving Yourself

by necronism



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: (Describing Arthur how I have him in my own game you know?), Dominant Dutch, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fucking by Proxy, Humiliation kink, Kieran is just there as a cock sleeve for them both let's face it., M/M, Multi, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Praise Kink, Spitroasting, Submissive Arthur, This isn't a rape fic., Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 23:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17192144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necronism/pseuds/necronism
Summary: Arthur knows better than anyone not to just go walking into Dutch's tent, so the second he sees Kieran head for it after returning from their fishing trip, he knows right away that it isn't going to go well. What he doesn't realize however, upon following to defuse the possible chaos, is that Dutch is willing to listen to Kieran's request to be heard - to prove himself. In a way.





	Proving Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MellowJam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowJam/gifts).



Their haul from the trip hadn’t been anything spectacular - a bundle of bluegills and a few small-mouth bass were enough to get half the camp on a new diet for the night, but Arthur was already complaining that they hadn’t waited nearly long enough for the right hook. Kieran knew to keep his mouth shut when it came to being told how to do things around here, but he had felt bold enough to have asked Arthur Morgan to join him in the first place. Somehow, he figured, that gave him a bit of leeway to do the string-pulling around here, so to speak.

Nevertheless, Arthur had plenty to complain about. The sun going down too fast, the right bait being wasted on the smaller fish by the smaller man, even after stating that he wasn’t too much of a fisherman himself. The O’Driscoll, as he still calmed him, seemed to be providing a talent that wasn’t completely useless in the camp. And it bothered him. Each cast of the fly, he grumbled something about Kieran maybe being good enough one day to provide properly for the rest of the camp.

Of course, he never bothered to call him by his real name. The way the smaller man seemed to flinch and writhe whenever he was referred to by his former employer was the only reason he otherwise tolerated Kieran’s nearby existence. Maybe it wasn’t all that mean, but they hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. The teasing was one thing, but Arthur could sympathize to a degree with Kieran’s fear of being killed in his tent while he slept. Knowing the traitors they had in the past, it was something that kept every one of the Van der Linde members up a little later than intended.

“If you know how to catch them, you know how to cook ‘em, right?” He unhooked the fish from the saddle, not bothering to look to Kieran for answer. Either way, it was going to happen. The man couldn’t fire a rifle for shit around here, tearing up what pelts he managed to drag back by the end of the week. Even Dutch’s patience was running thin with him.

“I, uh--”

“You gotta do something, and fast, boy. Sooner or later we’re _all_ gonna get bored of the way you harp on about being called an O’Driscoll.”

“I ain’t--”

Arthur shot him a look, not wanting to hear it for the hundredth time that very day. All the excuses and he could never come up with on to prove their opinion otherwise. Dutch had every right to taunt the man, turning his word against him every step of the way. Kieran Duffy, as he called himself, turned his back on a gang that, for the better of three months, hadn’t driven the back-end of their guns into his skull.

At least Kieran shut up. He took the fish in his arms and grumbled off back to the campfire.

Arthur watched the back of his head for a bit, before his eyes flicked over instinctively to Dutch’s tent. The flaps were drawn, tied at the front, but he could clearly hear Molly’s arguing somewhere else in the camp. The sun had barely set and the man had already locked himself away from the rest of the world. He’d keep an eye on that, come dinnertime. For now, he looked back to Kieran, just as he was followed by a mocking few at his heels.  


_You think Dutch trusts me now?_  


His eyes blinked heavily against the light of the fire, the singing of the happy company around him having faded to a low hum. His knife bounced between his fingers, the weight of the fillet at the end causing it to sway back and forth. Rather hypnotically. His attention was only drawn away when he saw Kieran plant his hands on his knees and stand, stepping over the seat he had been given to leave.

Arthur wasn’t sure why he bothered to watch him, make sure he wasn’t headed off to horse to bolt. Those days seemed to be in the past for them all, but three months was still a long time. It had only been a couple under the wing of Dutch van der Linde, but-- **_shit_ **.

Arthur sat up straight.

Kieran was headed right for that tent, stopping at tied flaps before he reached for the string and pulled. Christ, that fucking fool was asking to be put down like a dog. He clumsily excused himself from the fire, staggering over the log that had been dragged over extra seating. By the time he got there, he assumed he was too late.

No lone gunshot, however.

“-- _do you think you’re doin’, boy, coming in here and_ \--”

“Dutch, I--”

“ **_No_ ** , that’s _Mister_ Van der Linde to you--”

 _Christ_.

Arthur dared to slip his hand between the fabric, pushing aside the curtain to let himself in. Dutch had Kieran down in the chair he usually lounged in, and it was rather a shock to see anyone else in the company of the tent at all. Arthur may have towered over the two in any other situation, but the glare Dutch sent his way, momentarily from Kieran, was enough to make him cower slightly.

“Is this your doing? Filling this idiot’s head with the idea that he can waltz in here however he likes? Do I keep my leash too loose on you, Arthur?”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Dutch gritted his teeth, turning back to Kieran who was gripping the sides of the chair. Probably to prevent himself from being dragged anywhere too cleanly by the hair or throat.

“Boy here says it’s about time we start treating him with respect. I don’t see anyone here worthy of my time for such nonsense. _Do you,_ **_Arthur_ ** _?_ ”

Again, no sound. A bit of a croak as he cleared his throat and tried to start over.

“He said somethin’ about proving his worth around here. I don’t know, I didn’t say anythin’ about him talking to you, or- _shit_ , O’Driscoll-”

“I promised,” Kieran squeaked.

Dutch shot him another look, fist clenching at his side, the other hand already at his belt. Even Arthur flinched, waiting for the inevitable draw of a gun that wasn’t even there.

“I promised the lot of you I’d be good, I could be loyal to this family. I’m more use here than I am anywhere else - ask Arthur! He’s the one who--”

“No,” Dutch bit. “I’m asking _you_. This is the third or fourth time you’ve come to me spouting off this shit about being one of us. But all I hear is a worthless horsehand who knows how to lie himself out of a tight spot. We let you live. Hell, I left your boys there intact.” He lifted his boot and dropped the heel down sharply against the chair between Kieran’s legs. The man yelped.

“You should be so damn grateful.”

Dutch leaned in, one arm crossed over his knee as he sized up the former O’Driscoll. Or whatever he called himself. Arthur was frozen, unsure of how to defuse the situation at hand. Kieran was caught between a rock and a hard place - the back of a finely crafted chair and a finely crafted boot, the toe just hovering over his crotch.

“ _Dutch_ ,” Arthur said, voice barely strong enough to break the tension.

“Don’t you start now,” the older man warned. The toe of his boot lowered, pressing against Kieran’s lap. There was no yelp now when he flinched, more of an uneasy gasp. It was too dark to really study his face, but Arthur stared, watching as Kieran’s eyes slowly shut tight. First his body pulled away, but then his back caved, hips pressing forward against the force of the boot’s underside.

Dutch raised a brow.

“I think he’s worthless for a reason. Being dragged around and tied to a tree really set in his nature.” The boot tipped forward, pressing harder against Kieran - who at any point Arthur expected to yell, cry out, strike out at Dutch, but… no. He seemed to be taking this punishment. If he could even call it that.

Arthur felt his cheeks flush, the heat rising from his throat.

“I think… he likes this.” There was a low, rumbling laugh. One that made both men’s skin crawl. “Is this what you came here for, boy? To be given direction? You can prove yourself however you like but that doesn’t mean I have to give you a shred of respect. Especially when you’re squirming there, half-hard under my heel.”

“ _Dutch-- sir-- Mister Van der Linde_ \--”

Kieran’s pleas came only as breathy gasps, but no amount of begging stopped him from opening his legs further for Dutch. Arthur wondered why he wasn’t struggling before, but realizing just how stuck he was in his own steps said a lot. If he was stuck at all. He glanced over his shoulder, through the slats of the tent curtains. The rest of the camp’s singing was that same drunken humming, one that no longer enticed him than this very situation did right now.

“What did I say about begging?” Dutch growled, pulling his boot away to stand back. Sure enough, Kieran, who acted as if his hands were as useless free as they were bound, had tented the front of his trousers. His legs trembled as he was freed.

Dutch let out another quiet laugh, reaching for the buckle of his own pants. The soft clattering of metal and buttons was what drew Arthur’s eyes there, to Dutch’s thin hips, the fabric tight around his own thighs. As soon they had both realized where Kieran had placed himself, the atmosphere in the tent had shifted.

“I’d no sooner trust you,” Dutch drawled smoothly, tucking a thumb into the fabric across his waist, “than I would my cock in some cannibal’s mouth.”

Arthur felt his mouth run dry, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth. In a way, he wished he was in that position right now, eye-level with Dutch’s hips - but it wasn’t something to be requested. It was more of a demand to be put on the spot like that. The way those ringed fingers dipped into his own pants, the other reaching out to grab Kieran by the top of his hair.

Another small yelp, but Kieran kept his mouth shut after that. He stared up at Dutch, who stared back, no mercy in his eyes.

Arthur had mirrored his own hands, one just over the front of himself in his pants, the other in his own hair, running down to the back of his neck. He couldn’t even stop himself, didn’t even make an attempt to control the impulse to feel himself through the fabric. Something about that voice, the control in his actions - _wishing it was him being talked down to that very moment_.

But it was silent, nothing but Kieran’s heavy breathing, falling in and out of sync with Arthur’s own. He felt how hard he was from just watching this display, how hot and pained each breath felt when he drew it in, let himself go. Dutch’s mere glance over was enough to make him tremble.

Arthur raised his eyes to meet the other’s man. That fine eyebrow stayed quirked, and Arthur kept his chin raised defiantly. In no way was he as pathetic and useless as some O’Driscoll, and he could show up better than Kieran had against this sort of behavior.

“You’ve even got my best man curious,” Dutch muttered, giving Kieran’s hair a tug. The man grunted and looked over. Arthur could see his jaw clench as he took in what could possibly be the size of the man through his jeans, under his hand. Fingers pressed finely into the fabric to give him a clear outline, before he ran the palm of his hand down the entire length. In _some_ attempt to be cocky.

Dutch yanked at the man’s hair again, dragging him forward from the chair and against his own confined cock. Kieran shuddered, somehow able to keep his hands at his sides. His head was turned again, so the bulge of Dutch’s cock pressed against the man’s face, so he could watch Arthur watch them. True to that curiosity, Arthur fumbled with his belt and the clasps of his pants, quickly becoming more and more undone as it all passed before him. Kieran only stared, his breathing labored, hands aching to touch, to rest somewhere.

“Close up the damn tent before you do something stupid,” Dutch warned. Arthur grunted and hastily turned to tie the strings from the inside, quickly peeking at the fanfare outside. No one would notice their absence. No one would care or even thinks twice on it. At least he hoped.

There was a heavy thunk behind him and when he turned, he saw that Dutch had dragged Kieran down from the chair and onto his knees. Kieran’s hands hovered just over Dutch’s thighs, wanting to hold onto him but not quite breaking through. Perhaps he knew better.

“Hand me your belt.”

Arthur did as instructed. Didn’t he always? The belt was pulled loose and tossed to Dutch, who slipped it over Kieran’s head and then throat, pulling it taught through the buckle. Kieran let out a strangled gasp, but there were no further complaints. At least they knew how to make him shut up for a little bit. Arthur liked that aspect, letting himself relax as Kieran's hips jumped.

The slack was wrapped around Dutch’s wrist as his free hand, now clean from Kieran’s hair, pushed the front of his open trousers down. There was no demand to take him out, no instructing the O’Driscoll exactly what to do. He didn’t even need to be told, as if maybe, just maybe, he had gone through this before, was waiting for it. The second Dutch had his hand around the base of his cock, Kieran took it into his mouth. Entirely. Not as if he had been asked to do so, but rather that’s how far Dutch was willing to go. His eyes rolled back before they shut again, hands now firmly gripping the loosened fabric of Dutch’s pants, eager to pull him in.

“If I even feel you rest your teeth on me, I’ll have Arthur here snap that neck of yours.” He gave the makeshift leash a sharp tug as a test, and Kieran let out a garbled sound. The man was at the end of a noose and he still seemed so - aroused, content with this fate. Dutch chuckled, but didn’t lower his hand, all too distracted by the face that was nuzzled up against him. “Look at him over there. I hope you’re handy with a spool of thread, he’s barely able to keep himself from bursting at the seams...”

_Damn it, Dutch. Why did you always have to run your mouth like that?_

Arthur stepped forward, waiting for Dutch to ward him off from a prize like this. As any pack leader would want the first taste before he gave up the scraps. But he didn’t argue, didn’t make a sound, only smirked and gave his head a small jerk. The indication to come over. _Shit_.

Kieran was being held long enough that they might as well have been trying to drown him, but other than the occasional strangled breath, he didn’t complain or fight against Dutch. His hands were on his own thighs now, rubbing along and towards the inseam of his own pants. They met over his own erection, a small moan fluttering with a gasp. Once Arthur beside them, Dutch finally let out a breath of his own and looked down, pressing his hips forward in slow thrusts against the O’Driscoll..

_How long had it been since he had gotten Molly to shut up the same way?_

With a soft sigh, Arthur pushed his jeans down from the sides. The head of his cock still managed to catch along the seam of the leg, the man too big to be completely drawn out with some assistance. Dutch let out a low whistle, turning Kieran’s head slightly. The man choked, gasped, eyes blinking open as he regarded the second man beside him in awe.

“Look at what you’re doing to him,” Dutch purred, eyes moving up from Arthur’s hips to his chest, flushed face. Those eyes on him felt like the stare of any other predator watching from the underbrush, waiting to make their own move. Arthur hoped it would come soon, eyes flicking between either of Dutch’s hands. His rings glinted under the sharp line of light that cut through the tent’s curtains. One taught, twisted up in knotted hair, the other flat against his own navel, thumb and forefinger framing the base of his cock as Kieran withdrew and stared up at Arthur.

“You could only dream someone like myself or Arthur, for that matter, respecting some pathetic man such as yourself.”

Kieran’s eyes hadn’t let Arthur’s hips, the cock that was slowly pulled from its last confine before being held neatly before him in one hand. Arthur could wrap his own hand around it, giving it it a squeeze at it jumped, flexed, now it was free to do so. He swallowed hard, tongue wetting his lips as he watched the man. Rather, his mouth, his lips, a slight bump in his cheek as he turned more to admire Arthur, Dutch’s cock pressing against the other side.

He couldn’t help himself from imagining it there, where it could be right now, had this been any other time and Arthur had the balls to do so - to be as stupid as Kieran Duffy here. _God, maybe Kieran is a genius._ His hand working from the base outward, chin turning up sharply as Kieran reached for it. _Was this what the guy had been doing all this time for some gang leader? Being some outlet for frustration? Was that why he had been expecting more than the usual teasing as of late?_

“Don’t be shy _now_ , O’Driscoll,” Dutch muttered, pulling the man’s head back. A line connected his lips to Dutch’s cock, shimmering before it broke. Kieran coughed and drew in a sharp breath as he stared up at the man, but he wasn’t tossed to Arthur just yet. His gaze seemed to linger on the man before him, rather adoringly all of a sudden.

“You’d choke on him. Maybe we won’t need this leash on you after all.”

Arthur tried to ignore such words, finding them rather crude when they were directed his way. Yet, he craved it, a hand returning to the back of his neck as the worked at the head of his own cock. There was a sharp breath, feathered with a moan as he closed his eyes, only able to imagine what it would be like to be on his knees right now, Dutch’s boot driving against his cock.

“He never gets any time off the way he slaves around, pulling more work than you could ever bring to this table. This is just what he needs right now. Some warm spot to park himself. Preferably one that doesn’t make a lot of noise. Wouldn’t want the whole camp to find out just how much of a worthless piece of shit you are. On your knees, not even having to beg for it…”

_Why wouldn’t Dutch shut the hell up?_

“A work horse like him deserves a break,” Dutch whispered. Arthur realized the voice was at his ear. A hand ran across his hip and to the small of his back. He didn’t have to look, didn’t want to, even. There was that laugh again, so close. A hand moved over Arthur’s and guided it away from himself. He grasped the open air, fingers curling into a fist as he felt something hot, wet, around his cock. It sank down, was pushed against him, and his eyes fluttered opened to find Kieran nestled there as snugly as he had been against Dutch, his eyes slowly closing. At ease.

It was only by the slight light of the fire that he could see Dutch’s rings still tangled in hair, guiding Kieran forward, then slowly back, along Arthur Morgan. He was bigger than Dutch, now he knew, and Kieran let out a slow groan as he took him in. He let out a sharp breath, not daring to look up. The arm around him, the breath at his neck he knew quite well to be Dutch…

“ _Fuck_.” He let it slip, dropping the hand from his neck. The arm fell around Dutch’s shoulders, but once again he was holding nothing but air. His hips moved on their own against the man’s mouth, against Dutch’s guiding hands, while a few fingers crept further still behind him. Arthur wanted to turn his head, feel that breath against his own face, but he knew…

“Dutch--”

Nothing more, only that soft, pleading cry. A nasally laugh spidered along his neck.

“ _What did I say about begging?_ ”

Slowly, Arthur brought his hand down, briefly running over Dutch’s fingers in Kieran’s hair, but he quickly took control. As Dutch withdrew, certainly unable to contain his amusement, he thought about tightening his arm around him. To keep him close, have Dutch van der Linde do the squirming for once. But he simply let it pass under his finger tips. Kieran made no noises now, simply satisfied with being dragged along. Two trembling hands rested at Arthur’s thighs - squeezing, kneading.

Dutch hiked up his pants a bit, cock pinned under the open folds of the zipper and against his stomach. Each step he took was slow, methodical, dangerous, almost heavy and sounding through Arthur’s skull as he moved behind Kieran. They were face to face now and yet still avoiding one another. Both men were too busy watching as Kieran was pulled back and forward, Arthur’s hips rocking against the slow rhythm he had worked himself into.

“Fuck,” he said again, this time a bit more sharply.

“Let me know if you feel those teeth of his.” He indicated to the leash that had now been abandoned, the leather hanging loosely around Kieran’s neck. Arthur nodded, barely hearing the words himself. Too busy thrusting forward, harder, letting his eyes at least peek up at Dutch’s cocked hips, the way the fabric creased over his thighs, lap… the underside of his pinned cock - why wasn’t Dutch doing anything?

For a moment, Arthur stopped, using it as an excuse to catch his breath and look up. Was he bored already? _Shit, this wasn’t good enough, this wasn’t, uh--_ He grabbed Kieran by both ears now, pulling him down hard against him. He felt his cock strained in the back of the man’s throat, Kieran writhing under him. No room to breathe or even gasp or complain (not that he seemed to feel the need to), just enough to squirm and writhe, fingers trying to find Arthur's wrist, the base of his cock, anything to hold on.

“Easy,” Dutch purred, tilting his head slightly. It was sight to behold, Arthur taking the reins more than he usually did. This wasn’t some mustang to be tamed, however, this was some lowdown gelding who didn’t even have the balls to fight back. Not as if he had even attempted refusal. “Don’t go finishing on me just yet.”

_On me. Not “on us”. Hm._

Arthur swallowed, licking his lips again. Kieran was given some slack, slouching a bit with the head of Arthur’s cock just between his lips. At least he could breathe properly for a bit, able to reach up and feel Arthur at the base, lips and tongue lingering. Dutch had stepped away, not even minding how awkward his own clothes had seated against his erection. He was too busy searching a drawer beside his bed, humming some tune to himself as he rifled through papers, broken watches, loose change…

He stood back, examined a small canister before screwing off the top and nodding to himself. The scent, although faint, was recognizable. Arthur wasn’t… sure what the plan would be for Petroleum here, gritting his teeth and giving a glance downward. He was no idiot, he just had no idea how long this night was going to go on for.

That humming continued, as taunting as it was for Kieran it was for Arthur. He was rooted to the spot, watching Dutch dip a couple fingers into the jelly and set the canister down. His pants were shoved down a little further, cock gripped at the base while the other coated it with the lube. Arthur swallowed, drawing in a sharp breath as he watched the older man stroke himself. Staring at nothing _but_ himself. The smallest glance toward Arthur made him shudder again, dropping his eyes.

“He’s already doing so well,” Dutch muttered. Those heavy steps crossed over and back to them, stopping behind Kieran. Another glance upward and Arthur could see he was still stroking himself, cock slick and shining in the light. He muttered something, but wasn’t sure what it was, probably a few expletives as his thoughts went a bit hazy.

“ _Get him on his feet._ ”

Kieran was held back, yanked up by the hair. He cursed and pressed up against Arthur, but he might as well as attempted to push over a wall. The hair thing was getting a tad annoying, but...

Arthur grunted in return.

“Now, now, O’Driscoll. There’s no need to start acting up. You were doing so _well_.” That condescending behavior Dutch was free to use in front of the occupants of Rhodes without them realizing he was mocking him at all. Arthur hated to love it so much, unable to hide the smirk on his face.

Dutch reached around Kieran’s waist with the one hand that wasn’t too slippery to grab onto his pants, undoing the buttons but clearly avoiding the erection that ached beneath. Now even Arthur paid it any mind, staring right over the man’s shoulder to Dutch. Somehow, even with Kieran here, they were still the only two in the room.

“Mister Van der Linde, I don’t think--”

“Good thing you don’t have to,” Dutch snapped, shoving the back of Kieran’s pants down. It was a bit difficult with just the one hand but of course he managed. He always did. Arthur grunted in return, holding Kieran by the front of the shirt to keep him still. Kieran stared back at him, eyes wide with anticipation, lips twitching to say something. “ _Ahh-h-h_ , that’s better. We can finally put this ass to better use than just sitting around.”

Kieran shut his mouth, resting one hand against Arthur’s chest. For now, he didn’t mind, finally able to work his pants down a little more. His own cock was slick, and he ran the tips of his fingers over it, shuddering as a breeze moved through the tent. Dutch’s hand rested along Kieran’s hip, the other guiding himself against the man, sometimes glancing up for a reaction.

He shifted nervously and rightfully so, unable to properly spread his legs any further to accompany Dutch behind him. The attempt was obvious, his squirming and reaching back, before he thought better and returned to hanging from Arthur’s shirt and shoulders. The second Dutch gave up on the teasing and finally pressed against his hole, he barely seized up, almost pressing back before dropping his head down with a shaking groan.

Arthur had a better view this way, watching as every inch of Dutch’s cock began to sink into the other man; as his hips slowly shifted forward and his Dutch’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. One hand rested on Kieran’s back now, dipping it so slightly inward. So distracted by the rings before his eyes flicked back to the ones pulling at the buttons of the vest, the shirt beneath that was being tugged upward to reveal the soft belly beneath.

“Bend him over, he’s not done with you yet.”

His eyes snapped back to focus on everything. Kieran’s shoulders were gripped and he was bent at the hip. He was at a rather uncomfortable angle, knees unable to be bent in order to remain bottomed out for Dutch van der Linde. Now it was just a hand pushing his skull down in the near dark, unusually tamed, welcoming lips wrapping back around Arthur’s cock. _Now_ he let himself make a noise at all, a soft moan as he dropped his head completely forward.

Each thrust from Dutch could be felt rocking forward against him. In a way- _no_.

Dutch kept one hand on Kieran’s hip, the other against the small of his back, keeping him down, in place, where he belonged. Arthur’s eyes wandered up that hand and the arm it was connected to, eventually stopping at Dutch’s face, the mustache that twitched as his lips drew tightly. For a man who talked too much, he was relatively quiet at the moment. Maybe there was nothing to be said. Kieran Duffy wasn’t the one that deserved praise, at least not aloud.

“That’s right,” he finally uttered. Arthur followed his gaze to the back of Kieran’s head, the hand that held on pathetically to the waist of the man’s pants. Each thrust rocked him forward and he knew it, he knew just what it was doing to Arthur Morgan. Fucking him.

 _By proxy_ , was the term, Arthur believed.

“This O’Driscoll loves nothing more than being put in his place.”

Arthur nodded, but wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to. Every time the hand on Kieran’s back went to pull up the shirt to reveal more of Dutch’s body, he was completely distracted. By everything. At some point, even his cock being slammed into the back of the man’s throat had become a buzz compared to watching Dutch van der Linde’s face and hips - his entire body. But he felt ashamed that he was staring, and eventually resorted to watching his own hips instead, imagining… anything else.

It was only when he felt a hand across his cheek did he remember where he was, letting out a small sound. The warm metal of Dutch’s rings against his stubbled cheek, moving under his jaw to direct his face upwards. Arthur couldn’t help it - he leaned in, finding Dutch across the way and pressing his lips to the ones he found there; the brush of the mustache across his own. The hand against him froze, but slowly slipped behind Arthur’s head, running over the stubbled hair down the nape of his neck.

“Good boy,” Dutch whispered, and Arthur could taste the words on his tongue. His eyes rolled under heavy lids, his hips moving more erratically. Dutch held him there, letting their lips brush together, tongue sometimes reaching out to find the other in some curious, ghostly touch.

The praising was so gentle, so tender, so… untrue. He never believed a word of it, ever, no matter how many times Dutch told Arthur to go a bit easier on himself. Past mistakes were just that - mistakes. They had cost everyone dearly in the past. This was the one thing that didn’t feel like a mistake, that didn’t weigh Arthur down from the very beginning. The hand on him, the one guiding him forward as it had guided Kieran - but it was still so different.

He moaned against Dutch’s lips, eyes opening slightly to observe him there. Dutch had his own eyes closed, eyebrows bunched as he focused on his hips moving, slamming, the muted slaps of skins together. _Was he picturing it too?_ Arthur kissed him, rather tenderly, figuring he’d never get a chance like this ever again.

His hips seized, slamming forward. He barely remembered what was even there to supply him the pleasure, the warmth, the wetness, until he felt himself spill. His legs trembled, hand reaching up to lace his fingers with Dutch’s as it held him.

“Fuck, oh- _fuck._ ”

Each pull backward was followed by a sharp thrust, a pleased gurgling down below. Dutch didn’t let him pull away, even when he stopped to breathe. The man had his own pace, as feverish as it was now. The hand closed to hold Arthur’s hand as well as he moaned back against him, other hand raising to find Arthur’s other cheek. And he just kept muttering to himself, not sure if Dutch was mistaking him for someone else in whatever fantasy he might have, but his name, clear as day, again-

“Arthur…”

And he whimpered against him as Dutch pulled him for a kiss, lips crashing together and Kieran folding slightly between them. One hand moved to Dutch’s chest, feeling the fine fabric of his very beneath. A racing heart beneath that. They stayed like that together, before… Dutch slowly dropped his hand, loosening his grip on Arthur’s.

“Shit,” he muttered, breath still soft against the other man’s lips.

 _Shit was right_.

There was no stumbling away, no hushed regrets. Dutch leaned back, resting his hands on Kieran’s spine. The man still trembled beneath him, but as Arthur grew soft, he pulled away, letting him draw in a breath and stumble. There wasn’t much to hold him up, so he fell to his knees, still squirming, but now able to process a proper groan of satisfaction. The front of his pants were dark in one spot, a few spots of clear fluid leaking through in thick beads.

Arthur pulled his pants up in a hurry, not daring to look at Dutch just yet. Once the clasp to his jeans was fastened, his eyes wandered upward. Dutch was taking his time riding out his last wave of pleasure, a drop of cum glistening at the tip of his cock, before it grew heavy and fell in a slow drop to the floor beside Kieran.

 _Shit was right, alright_.

He felt his mouth go dry again as he met Dutch’s face, smug as the expression there was.

“Not bad for an O’Driscoll,” he purred, slowly pulling his own pants up and tucking himself away. Arthur stupidly nodded along. He glanced to Kieran though, who was slowly sitting to pull up his pants, with with a slow euphoria. For someone who had been merely an object for a while there, he seemed dreamily content. Lids heavy, eyes shining, face flushed, but with a small smile on his face. A hand linger across the drain in his lap, squeezing.

“You should probably get him back to his own tent before he starts shit like this again.”

Arthur nodded again, waiting until Kieran was up on his own feet before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him out the side of the tent. So no one could see what an idiot the grinning, tingling O’Driscoll had made of himself. The fool Arthur had made of himself, but yet--

“ _Shit._ ”

That was all he could manage.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, for a "threesome" fic, this mostly just turned out to be Dutch using Kieran as a barrier between himself and Arthur getting off together, huh? Oh well. Guys being dudes. Also, comments are appreciated. Not that I require constant validation, but it helps to know that my efforts to get back into writing are enjoyed by others rather than me sort of doubting myself?
> 
> *DISCLAIMER* No, this isn't a rape fic. That's all I should have to say regarding that, but... Kieran may not have vocally consented but he gladly went to sucking cock. Him saying "I-I don't think..." and being cut off by Dutch is in regards to them about to fuck with everyone right outside and no doubt capable of hearing anything and everything. Kieran was letting himself be used, probably because he likes it, I gave him the humiliation kink after all.


End file.
